


I've Met My Destroyer

by thezombieintheroom



Series: Red Room!Clint [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ??? - Freeform, M/M, fuck this whole series is a goddamned AU who cares, teen-ish AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezombieintheroom/pseuds/thezombieintheroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What?"</p><p>"We shouldn’t be doing this…"</p><p>Clint scoffed and shook his head, rolling his eyes shut. He huffed before looking back to Yasha. “Look, are you going to sit here and play Pavlov’s Dog for the rest of your life, or are you going to come with me?”</p><p>He grinned widely when Yasha shut up and followed him out of his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Met My Destroyer

**Author's Note:**

> In which Clint and Yasha are teenagers (for the first part at least) in the Red Room, Clint’s a bad influence, and a some angst. Also, I got to pull a little bit of mind-fuckery on you guys at the end *cackles*.
> 
> This was requested by an anon on Tumblr and I just sort of rolled with it.

The first time Clint laid eyes on Yasha was when he first arrived at the Red Room training barracks. When the other teen had looked at him, he’d smiled and he took an odd pleasure in seeing the other’s eyes widen in shock before averting back to the floor.

 

Clint didn’t know what the weird twitch of edginess in the pit of his stomach was then, not like he will when he’s all grown up, at least. He couldn’t really ask General Lukin about it, either, because he had a feeling the man wouldn’t really appreciate it. He does realize the feeling from before he came to the Red Room, remembers feeling that way about a girl in his ninth grade class.

 

Of course, this couldn’t be the same thing, because Clint could still feel her blood caking into the creases of his hands if he focused hard enough.

 

He didn’t know the kids name then, knew only what Lukin felt like telling him. He knew he was an experiment, sort of like Clint himself was, but instead of his mind being tampered with, Yasha— Project Virus— was made from scratch, no original memory to go by.

 

Clint was only a better, improved version of the Wolf Spider project. More so being that he was a willing participant.

 

***

 

Clint and Yasha didn’t see each other for the first couple of months. Clint was stationed in the Wolf Spider dormitory, Yasha was placed somewhere else, though Clint didn’t know where.

 

On the fifth of the third month— January 5th, to be more exact— Clint found himself staring across the boxing ring they had set up in the gym, right into the gray eyes of Project Virus. He’d gotten into a fighting stance, balling up his fists, only to have Lukin’s hand land on his shoulder before being handed a knife.

 

Clint stared at the weapon, wide eyed. He hadn’t been allowed a weapon since he’s been there and from the collective gasps from the small crowd they’d collected; he wasn’t supposed to have one. He took a deep breath and tested the weight, spinning it around in his hand while keeping his eyes trained on his opponent.

 

He barely heard the advisor give them the go ahead, too busy circling Yasha. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he were to get down on his hands and knees and shape shifted into a wolf, but that wasn’t possible.

 

He wound up on his back, a knife at his throat. He didn’t even see the other teen move.

 

He let out a growl and flipped them, straddling Yasha’s hips and bringing his fist down, smiling a bit sadistically when he heard the grind and crunch of bones under his knuckles. He brought the knife up, could see Lukin smiling in the corner of his eye, could see the bitch who’d came up with Project Virus nearly lose her shit.

 

He slammed his hand down, body relaxing with the gasp the resounded around the room. Yasha stared up at him, blinking rapidly. Clint sniffed and stood up, holding his hand out for the other boy to take.

 

He could feel the daggers being stared into his back, felt half of the room fill with relief and the other half fill with dread.

 

“<It was nice nearly killing you.>” Clint murmured before walking out of the ring and back to his room.

 

***

 

Later that night Lukin called him to his office, sat him down and proceeded to bitch at him about how he was supposed to follow through and kill Yasha, kept saying that he was a mistake, that he was an abomination. Clint pretended to listen intently, not quite at the Lukin’s Lapdog stage, nodding his head when needed.

 

He was let out of the room with no more than a slap to the wrist.

 

He wasn’t expecting to run into Yasha on his way back to the Wolf Spider dorms. They did the comical go left, go right thing before Clint slapped a hand over his shoulder and moved him aside, walking past him with a curt nod to his head.

 

“<Project Virus,>” He said in acknowledgment, walking on after a moment.

 

“<Your name is Clint, right?>”

 

Clint sighed and turned around, rolling his eyes a little. “<That’s right. What’s up?>”

 

“<Nothing,>” Yasha said and he smirked— and if that wasn’t one of the most attractive and unnerving things Clint had seen, he didn’t know what was. “<Just wanted to thank you, for not killing me. You could have, but you couldn’t.>”

 

Clint didn’t like the condescending tone to the boy’s voice, or the way he said couldn’t like Clint was incapable of doing it. He didn’t know shit. Clint bared his teeth in an animalistic way— the only way he knew how, really. “<That would’ve been too easy. Trust me, you’ll get what you deserve sooner or later.>” He said and continued walking, not listening to anything else the other had to say.

 

He had better shit to be doing.

 

***

 

The next time they were put against each other, Clint shoved the blade of his knife right between the last two bones of Yasha’s rib cage. It wouldn’t kill him, but the look in Yasha’s eyes made it clear that he knew that Clint wasn’t to be messed with.

 

Apparently— according to Lukin— he had barely missed hitting the other teen’s lung.

 

***

 

They didn’t see each other until a year later; Clint was celebrating his birthday by himself in his room on the actual base the Red Room was set up at.

 

He was 17 and he was despising the day like he always did, had set up a little target with a crudely drawn stick figure with Barney’s written under it taped to the face of the target. He sat in the threshold of the room’s entrance, throwing knives and shooting the occasional arrow across the way. He didn’t miss the picture.

 

He never missed.

 

Clint would deny jumping when he saw Yasha, that same smirk from a year ago plastered to his features. Yasha smiled first this time, big and innocent and Clint felt that twitch from the day the met in his stomach again, except this time something in the back of his mind told him to make that smile a frown, make a growl rise from his throat and get him all worked up.

 

“<Hawkeye, the boy who never misses.>” Yasha said, nodding his head in Clint’s direction.

 

“<Project Virus, the kid who likes to do disappearing acts.>”

 

Yasha’s smile widened and he kneeled down next to Clint, lifting a hand to poke his cheek. “<Did you miss me?>” He teased and Clint rolled his eyes, smacking the hand away.

 

“<I barely even know you.>”

 

“<Would you like to?>”

 

Clint was surprised he said yes to the offer.

 

***

 

Every night they met in Clint’s room, Yasha told him everything there was to know but there wasn’t much, just stories of white rooms and Cryostasis chambers and needles.

 

After a week, it was Clint’s turn to start sharing.

 

He didn’t know where to begin so Yasha, thinking his story would be just as short as his own, suggested that he start at the beginning. Clint had opened his mouth to protest, but shook his head a bit afterwards, taking a deep breath before starting his story.

 

He started at the abuse he went through at home to the number of shitty foster homes he was placed in to the circus to the second his brother left him for dead, leaving the Red Room to find him.

 

He only went into details when Yasha asked, his eyes huge and oddly caring, like he wanted to reach out and pull Clint’s head down to rest in his lap and thread his fingers through his hair. Clint wouldn’t mind, if he was being honest, he hadn’t been touched in a positive way since he was living in that shit hole of a home in Waverly.

 

Of course, that’s not how Yasha felt, it couldn’t be, he didn’t even think sympathy was wired into his systems.

 

Clint didn’t tell him everything, though. He didn’t tell him about all of the hands that have been laid upon him, or the way he held his best friends body in his arms for over an hour as he watched the life drain from her eyes. Didn’t tell him about the six minutes he spent screaming at the sky when she’d finally passed away all because of him.

 

He didn’t tell Yasha that he was a murderer. Didn’t tell him that he was Aleksander Lukin’s personal little lapdog, but he figured everyone knew that bit of information already.

 

In the end, he didn’t tell Yasha that much, just told him stories of the foster home’s he was placed in, stories of Barney, and stories of the circus.

 

He’d tell him everything else eventually, but not now.

 

***

 

"What?"

 

"We shouldn’t be doing this…"

 

Clint scoffed and shook his head, rolling his eyes shut. He huffed before looking back to Yasha. “Look, are you going to sit here and play Pavlov’s Dog for the rest of your life, or are you going to come with me?”

 

He grinned widely when Yasha shut up and followed him out of his room. He slinked down to the end of the hallway, using his stealth skills to snap the guard on duty’s neck, gently laying him down to the floor.

 

Yasha was getting used to his violent behavior, rarely questioned him on why he had an urge to kill as often as he did when they first snuck around the base. Clint was relieved, he didn’t know how to answer the questions, never knew why he liked it so much.

 

They made it off of the base this time, hitchhiked to the nearest town and went to do a little sightseeing. Clint showed Yasha a few things, the town being a little similar to some of the towns he lived in while in the states.

 

He bought them each coffee and, like their personalities, their tastes clashed just as violently. Yasha liked his coffee black with a little sugar while Clint thought it was just better to ask himself if he’d like a little coffee with his sugar. He’d always had a sweet tooth.

 

He took them to the nearest gas station, almost a mile away from the coffee shop, and had to pull a few tricks to get a pack of cigarettes from the cashier. He’d make himself throw up later; he was much more interested in sucking down smoke.

 

“What is that?” Yasha asked and Clint grinned at how good he was getting at English.

 

“Getting good at that,” He commented, glancing down at the smoke he had clutched between his thumb and forefinger. “Wait, you’ve never heard of a cigarette?”

 

Yasha shook his head, paused, and then shrugged. “A few of the Master’s smoke, but I’m never allowed near them when they do.”

 

Clint thought for a moment, he didn’t want Yasha to start wheezing and choking if he let him take a drag so he smirked when he came up with the perfect idea. “I’m going to inhale some smoke; I want you to breathe in when I exhale okay?” He asked, threading his fingers through Yasha’s hair when the teen nodded.

 

He sucked down a lungful of smoke, leaned forward to where their lips were nearly touching before exhaling all of the smoke into Yasha’s willing, pliant mouth.

 

“Hold it in,” Clint said when Yasha tried to exhale; laughing a little when he started to cough a little. “Okay, let it out— slowly.”

 

He was surprised when he was slammed up against the wall behind them, less surprised when Yasha’s lips pressed against his but still sort of shocked. He dropped the nearly spent butt of the cigarette to the ground and brought his hands up to tangle into the other teen’s hair, letting out a shocked gasp when Yasha’s tongue pushed into his mouth.

 

“You know,” Clint panted when they pulled away for air, looking up into Yasha’s eyes. It was weird; a year ago they were the same height, now the brunette had nearly three inches over him. “For someone who’s supposed to be really naïve, you sure know a lot about this.” He said, rolling his hips up when he said ‘this’.

 

“Shut the fuck up, never noticed how much you talked.”

 

Clint had no idea what had gotten into Yasha, but he wasn’t really complaining.

 

***

 

Three days later, no one had realized that the dead guards were Clint’s fault and he and Yasha kept seeing each other at night. Sometimes, if Clint was willing to brave the wrath of the Master’s, he’d sneak over to Yasha’s room, but usually Yasha just came to his.

 

He could have moved things along faster than the snail’s pace they were going at, was sort of getting tired of the groping he and Yasha were doing.  But, he kind of liked going slow.

 

***

 

“Her name was Abigail...” Clint said one day, just out of the blue.

 

“What?”

 

They were in the safety of Clint’s room, no one to hear them speaking English, no one to see them together.

 

“I wasn’t completely telling you the truth when I told you about my life,” Clint said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. He frowned when Yasha pulled the thing from his fingers but shrugged after a moment. “My best friend’s name was Abigail. She was perfect. Nice, long curly hair, dark like yours, pretty brown eyes with these really long eyelashes. She had a great ass— never believed me when I told her, but I refused to stop telling her.”

 

He glanced at Yasha when he shifted on his cot, taking the proffered cigarette. He ignored the slight look of jealousy in the other’s eyes, just leaned back against his pillow.

 

“She had… issues, though. She was bulimic and she had a low self-esteem, but no matter how shitty she felt about herself, she always put a smile on her face for me. Knew that I’d go back to abusive foster parents after we were done hanging out. One day, it was a Saturday in the middle of July, she went to the pool, had a few girls make fun of her, and then went home.” His voice got a little thicker at this point; he refused to look Yasha in the eye. “I found her an hour later, nearly slipped and broke my neck on all of the blood on the damn floor. I saw her last breath leave her lungs, felt her blood seep into my skin. I think that’s what set me off. I found the girls that made fun of her, asked why they did it and then just, kchk—” He made held up his chin and ran his finger across his throat.

 

Yasha kept quiet for a moment before finishing off the cigarette they were sharing and tossing it in the trash. He moved around quickly and they ended up with Clint lying down on his side, head resting in Yasha’s lap. They both ignored the tears falling from Clint’s eyes.

 

***

 

Of course, they couldn’t be happy for long.

 

Lukin eventually noticed how close Clint and Yasha were getting, how they huddled together during dinner, always teamed up with each other when they needed to train. He didn’t address it right away, figured Clint just needed someone to talk to and Yasha was an easy target for Clint’s lies and his antics.

 

Of course, when he watched a few of the surveillance videos, he saw Yasha and Clint sneaking around after dark, how they would sleep in each other’s rooms from midnight to six o’clock before separating and going to their respectful rooms.

 

He showed this information to the Master’s, a few of them getting more upset than the others, and then they’d decided to do what was right.

 

***

 

Clint noticed the Master’s and Lukin looking at him oddly. It was unnerving, almost made him start fearing for his life.

 

He didn’t expect to get knocked out, didn’t expect Yasha to get dragged in and nearly beaten to a pulp. He felt weak, like he did when Abigail died, like he couldn’t do anything to help and it was tearing him apart from the inside out.

 

They were taken to separate labs, their doctors were the same.

 

***

 

Clint stared at Project Virus across the ring, he seemed familiar but he knew that wasn’t possible. He was two inches taller than Clint and his smile was made of knives. He thought he knew that smile, and something in the back of his mind kept jarring around.

 

It’s still fucking unnerving.

 

He was on his back in the blink of an eye, but he was smaller, faster, he flipped their positions and held the blade to Project Virus’ neck. They stared at each other for a moment before Clint brought the knife up, slamming it back down.

 

He saw Lukin frown in the corner of his eye, as well as the bitch that’d created Project Virus, though she was practically seething.

 

He stood up and held his hand out, nodding at the man below him. “<Take it or I’ll take it as a sign of disrespect.>” He said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

 

He noticed the man’s eyes flick over to the Master’s at the sidelines, lingering over their torture Master like he was waiting for permission or something.

 

“<Fuck this.>” He hissed and turned away, walking out of the ring and all the way to base so he could actually get something better than fighting done.

 

***

 

He wouldn’t admit that he jumped when Project Virus appeared in the threshold of his room, spinning around in his chair so he could face the man.

 

“<I’m sorry about earlier.>” He said and stayed in the doorway, like he was waiting for something.

 

“<No problem,>” Clint said and nodded towards the bed before turning back around. He didn’t really want to talk, so he kept quiet, finding the pieces of parchment he was staring at much more intriguing. He growled when he felt eyes boring into his back, slamming his fist onto his desk. “<What?>” He snarled, glaring at Project Virus like he was expecting him to grow a second head.

 

“<My name’s Yasha,>”

 

“<I don’t give two shits, get out.>”

 

The man did as told. Clint only felt bad a little while later.

 

***

 

Clint wondered why he wasn’t allowed to get close to Project Virus— Yasha, his mind supplied. He figured there was a reason behind it but he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

Lukin wouldn’t tell him, no matter how much he begged, and he doubted anyone else would, either.

 

Of course, they didn’t stay away from each other, Yasha made a habit of popping up wherever he went. It would have been weird, but the man made him laugh and he felt safe around him.

 

After a while, Lukin and the Master’s let them get closer on their own terms, teamed them up as mission partners. They were usually kept under a close eye, Clint was asked every week if they snuck around base together, put under a lie detector of sorts. He always said no and he always passed.

 

The questions only made him more curious.

 

***

 

When Yasha kissed him, it was in a dark alleyway in Moscow; they’d ditched their other partners and taken a few detours to get where they were now. Clint’s hands were held above his head by Yasha’s metal hand— an accident, he didn’t go into details— and he was practically keening into the brunets mouth.

 

It was like he was touched-starved. Particularly for Yasha’s touch.

 

He tilted his head to the side obediently when Yasha kissed down his jaw, trailing to his neck and sucking bruises into his flesh.

 

“I’ve missed you,”

 

English is like second nature to them both.

 

“I don’t even know you,”

 

Yasha pulled back, hand still holding Clint’s wrists, a serious expression on his face. “Would you like to?”

 

Clint nodded his head after a minute and surged forward again.

 

***

 

They lasted a year like that, a year before Lukin or anyone noticed.

 

That was two months more than the last time.

 

They only knew that because they were told. They were told exactly what happened the first time before being told what was going to happen to them.

 

Clint would be kept awake and Yasha would be thrown back into a cryo chamber. Clint ignored the scream rising up his throat, just let it happen as he was forced to watch Yasha get his memories wiped again, wake up and look at Clint like it was the first time they’d ever seen each other, and then saw him get placed into the chamber.

 

His own memories were wiped, though he wasn’t put into cryo. He was left to serve out his days for the Red Room. Project Virus was only a myth, he and his new partner talked about it on occasion, always wondered what it was supposed to be like.

 

Some nights he imagined a cold hand holding his wrists into the bed, only to wake up and realize it’d been a dream. He told his partner about these dreams sometimes, in which the man would let his hand brush through Clint’s hair on occasion.

 

“<What’s going on with me, James?>” He’d ask and the man— the legendary Winter Soldier— would shrug and let him lean his head on his cybernetic arm for a minute or two before they had to get moving.

 

“<Nightmares happen to everyone, you just have to get used to them.>”

 

It was the closest thing to comfort that James ever really gave him.

 

He still had dreams about a man named Yasha, how they progressed through their teen years and into adulthood, how they became the best at what they did. He couldn’t help but notice how similar Yasha and James looked. Maybe he’d ask James if he knew a man by the name of Yasha, but he probably wouldn’t even ask to begin with.


End file.
